


The Calm After the Storm

by silusaugustus



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Other, aella - Freeform, andy the courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silusaugustus/pseuds/silusaugustus
Summary: Silus has encounters in Zion with the Courier, Vulpes, and another figure from his past.





	1. Part One: The Courier

**Author's Note:**

> I was rereading my ridiculously long fic "The Coming of the Storm" and felt a little...I don't know, resoluteless? I wanted to have a future action between a few of these characters. 
> 
> For those that don't know I have written, but not posted, a story of my female Courier (Andy) and Silus gettin' together in Zion and having a daughter. This is post-Hoover Dam, post events-of-New-Vegas, and everything else; Silus went to Zion to work for/be yelled at by, Joshua Graham. 
> 
> So here are three minor 'shots' of Silus and others in that time period. 
> 
> Nevaeh is property of: http://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulmidnight

The Courier did not stay long; her sights were set north, to New Canaan, on some business deal with the New Canaanites. This was with Graham's blessing, and he'd quite fittingly prepared a neat stack of mail for his old friends and family. Andy had stuffed the letters in her sling bag, bringing the occupation of Courier to full circle, but now she was preparing to go.

Silus was at the edge of camp, watching the Dead Horse children play with the dark-haired, green-eyed girl who was smaller and paler than they. She was walking now, tottering in her nicely sewn Vegas-made boots, her cheeks flushed from the laughing and running. 

"I wish you'd come with us," Andy said as she approached Silus, who lounged forward across the rocks like a lazy cat. The Courier remained standing, putting one hand on her hip and gazing at the children as he did. "It's not far, and us girls could use the protection. It was stressful enough going this far, just the two of us."

"I thought you had a transmitting device that could transport you immediately," he said, emitting the longest sentence he'd spoken since she came. 

"I do, but I don't want to subject her to that," she stated matter-of-factly. "Effects on children haven't been studied and I'm not making an experiment out of her." 

Silus didn't reply. She pressed, "So, that's a no, then?"

Now he stood, slowly, as though the act of moving made his whole body ache. The black tactical gear was worn thin, which wasn't a bad thing in this heat, but the leather straps were heavy on Silus's shoulders as he stretched and turned toward her, sighing as if to signal that making eye contact with Andy was a torturous procedure he was unwilling to partake. 

He paused after the sigh, a serious look crossing the hardened face. He scanned her face as though looking for something, and then said in a Silus-esque, resolute tone, "Leave the child."

"I......what?"

"Leave her. With me." 

Andy, for once, had nothing to say. She blinked, blond eyelashes catching the Zion sun.

Silus had prepared a speech, arduous as the idea of persuasive talking was these days. 

"She will grow up with no home the way you carry her back and forth. No ground. She is not yours the way everyone in New Vegas is yours. She belongs here, in the wild and the desert. She has a home here, and family." He gestured toward the cavern where Graham no doubt lurked, sipping his coffee and playing with guns. "She will learn here as she's meant to, without the pollution of.." he grimaced, as though a bad taste were in his mouth. "Old world lights and noises and foolishness."

"Are you saying you'd take care of her?" Andy was almost indignant. 

"Of course I would," Silus snapped. "I, and Joshua, and Nevaeh, and the Sorrows--all of us. She will be better taken care of than by your Freeside mongrels." 

"And what about what I want?"

"You've made your choice," he said, the old nastiness returning to his tone quite easily. "You chose Vegas. You chose the Tower." As she opened her mouth to intercede, he cut her off, snapping, "And that's fine, it's your choice to make, but you can't make hers." 

The blond stared at Silus as though he were an alien. After a full minute of uncomfortable staring, she said in a reverent tone, "You love her."

"What?"

"You love our daughter. You want to raise her."

"Of course I do, you sublime idiot." Silus returned the glare of disbelief, as though Andy had just been through a lobotomy. He spat his annoyance. 

"WHAT?"

Silus was caught completely off-guard as the woman wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him deeply. He resisted the gesture, kissing her almost out of politeness for a moment before pulling her shoulders back and snapping, "There's no need to get.....sentimental." 

She put a hand on his cheek anyway. "You are something special, do you know that?"

Silus didn't remove the hand, but moved his face closer to hers. He stiffened. 

"The next time you come, use the device, so that you can leave much faster."


	2. Part Two: The Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silus encounters an old friend.

The Courier had left during the summer, and now it was autumn. Zion remained colorful, the heat dissipating sooner in the day. Night was chilly now, and Silus wore a long, weathered duster in addition to his usual tactical gear. He was on lookout, perched southeast of Graham’s camp. Out here, the long shadows made by the fires didn’t reach, and he was left sitting under the bowl of stars. Facing Vegas.

  
He was brooding, as was his way. Or rather, had been, before the silhouette climbing up the steep rock wall caught his attention in the infrared scope. There, it was a clear figure. Now, to his naked eye, it was simply a shimmer, a gleam. He knew who was in the stealth suit, but wasn’t sure if the other was aware that Silus was casually watching him. The rifle sat idly at Silus’s feet, and every so often Silus interrupted his own stargazing to watch the shimmer’s progress up the mountain.

  
Sometimes assassins came to Zion, even after the unraveling of the Legion in the Nevada area. Sometimes they were actual Legionary spies, but most didn’t make it this far. Every so often it would be a hired goon, posing under some caravan mask. Usually they were looking to assassinate Graham, other times it was assumed the Courier was in their midst; this was her usual route North. But she was hundreds of miles away, likely still doing her political musings with the New Canaanites. Silus didn’t really care, he was just here to fend off intruders. This particular intruder was quite a bit overdue.

  
The nearest second guard was a Dead Horse, at least 400 yards west of him. No one else would have seen the silhouette, Silus knew. The Dead Horses weren’t particularly agile with sneak or stealth, and using a scope was hearsay. Had someone approached the Dead Horse side of the mountain, they would’ve been met with whoops, hollers, gunfire, and probably a beating from a Brahmin jawbone or something akin. Silus was just as comfortable with the primitive warfare as he was this slinking, hidden person, but this was one he intended to deal with alone.

  
Time passed, and the figure drew nearer to the ledge. There was no room to get by; Silus was sprawled across the entire narrow path--two feet at its widest. The path wound across a large red rock, and down the cliffside below. Treacherous to climb, and the only route toward the rest of Zion, and that is why Silus chose this spot to park and sit. He realized for the first time, as the quiet footsteps tiptoed nearer, treading softly on the clay ground, that he himself might be unrecognizable. He wore his hair longer--laziness, not due to some tribal demand--and also due to laziness, he’d began to show signs of a beard.

  
The figure was now twenty feet away. It appeared to be readying a weapon. Silus stood, tensed, and turned toward the darkness. His rifle was still at his feet, but a pistol was gripped in his right hand.

 

“ _Lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit_ ,” he quoted lazily, and added, “ _Vulpes_.”

  
He could almost feel the shock of the other, and after a pregnant pause, the stealth suit deactivated. The other man gleamed into view.  
Vulpes’s pale white hair shone in the sparse starlight, his eyes glittering as he stared. There were only a few moments of silence.

  
“Silus.”

  
“Don’t act surprised,” Silus quipped, holstering the pistol and crossing his arms. He stood in a proud stance, feet apart, back rigid, as he stared at his former fellow soldier of the Legion and blocked the road to Zion. “You knew I was here.”

  
“I am not here for you,” Vulpes retorted, tucking his chin in and almost sniffing at Silus’s unkempt appearance. “I have my own business.” His voice slithered like a snake, as though he shared blood with the Nightstalkers, eyes glistening, tongue sliding.

  
“The Courier?” Silus asked dubiously, humorously. He’d heard the reports. He knew what had happened after the Dam, the next year. Vulpes had single-handedly burned the village in the mountains. He seemed hellbent on making the girl pay for her sins against the Legion. Silus didn’t care about Vulpes’s vendetta.

  
“She’s not here,” Silus finished, when Vulpes did not answer. “She’s farther north.”

  
“I am not here for HER,” Vulpes snapped, as though Silus were a complete moron. “I have no wish to harm her, or I would have done so already. You know as well as I do, Silus,” the blond tossed his hair haughtily, “The way to pain is not the knife in the heart. It is the knife to the soul.”

  
Silus didn’t care for poetry. “If you’re here for Graham, good luck with that.” He almost would have stood aside to let Vulpes try.  
“Not him,” Vulpes seemed to enjoy this guessing game, as he now smirked, fidgety. He almost looked like a floating head; the stealth suit covered him in black shadow from his neck to his toes, and all that Silus saw was the pale face and the glint of the Ripper perched on Vulpes’s hip. “She has a child here.” He seemed to sniff the air, and Silus frowned, uncrossing his arms.

 

“What?”

  
“That’s right,” Vulpes purred. “I’ve...persuaded...those along the caravan route as well as the settlers, who watched her take this path. She has a child--not the one in New Vegas. A girl. She brought the child here, I assume for protection, to her father.”  
Silus now paced the narrow corridor, and after mulling thoughtfully, he withdrew the machete from his boot. Vulpes seemed puzzled by the presence of the rusty blade and Silus’s stance, and a rare glare of amusement passed over his milky features. “You would protect the Courier.”

  
“No,” Silus retorted.

  
Even more surprise. “A Centurion...caring for a child. A girl, no less. What disgrace have you come to?”

  
Silus answered with an attack; he was confident. Vulpes was a capable fighter, but his strength lay in the mind, not in his hands. The other barely stumbled backwards, missing the blow by inches, as he grasped the Ripper and revved it to life. The mechanic sound of the motor was almost obscene on the quiet desert clifftops, and now the noise of Silus’s machete clanging against the blade cascaded into the valley above it.

  
Vulpes ducked another blow, hissing, but Silus had only halfheartedly swung; he now lunged toward Vulpes’s dodge, grabbing the more slender man by the throat and tearing the Ripper away. He flung it over the cliffs, the motor roaring absurdly as it bounce down the red rock mountain. Now Vulpes’s eyes shot toward his weapon as it fell from view, and too late he now acknowledged Silus again, gasping for air as the stronger man writhed with him, pulling him on his back toward the cliff.

  
The machete was at Vulpes’s throat as Silus’s knee came down onto his sternum, causing the blond to sputter.

  
“Shall your head take the same path as your weapon?” Silus grinned, pressing the blade more firmly.

  
“Why are you protecting the child?” Vulpes truly did wiggle like a snake, attempting without success to roll away from the dead weight crushing his chest. Every word was spat between breaths.

  
“Then again, the blade is rusty,” Silus snarled, and withdrew the pistol, pressing the barrel as hard as he could into Vulpes’s forehead. “Shall it be mercy for my old _amicus_?”

  
Vulpes clenched his teeth in pain, pausing in his efforts. He seemed at a loss for words.

  
Silus’s intimidation was wearing off; he grew bored. He withdrew the pistol. Now Vulpes just stared angrily. “Why, Silus.”

  
The blunt answer was Silus’s style; he paused, actually contemplating the answer. Andy’s giddiness over the apparently profound recognition of his caring. How alien that was to Vulpes, who only ever saw Silus’s cruel side. In fact, Vulpes himself had shown more loyalty to Silus in their youth than most Legionaries cared to. The pistol grip wavered.

  
Vulpes took a few precious breaths of air; his direct ploy had worked, at least somewhat. Silus had only ever responded positively to directness. If Silus could ever be considered positive, that is. Now Vulpes rested his head against the cold rock, awaiting the other man’s answer. He saw it in Silus’s face first, despite the facial hair. Now it was Vulpes’s turn to be stunned into wordlessness, but he recovered faster than Silus.

  
“She’s yours.”

  
Vulpes’s mind reeled, and his long blond lashes blinked in total confusion and surprise. Silus found himself pressing the blade again, holstering the pistol.

  
“Now, where were we--”

  
“I won’t harm her,” Vulpes found himself struggling to say. He was surprised by his own words, but they kept coming. He even shook his head, blond bangs falling into his fox-like eyes. “You have my word. I didn’t know.”

  
Silus was amused by this. “Sentimental, Vulpes...you?”

  
In a completely unintentional and rare, honest moment, Silus’s old friend stated, “I have no wish to harm you. Or your...family.” He realized that what he was saying was true, and almost recoiled at himself. Silus reacted similarly, removing the knee before he’d realized it, and standing. It was cold enough that his breath fogged around him, and he stared down at Vulpes strangely.

  
Painfully and slowly the blond sat up, realizing that at some point Silus struck his nose; the fresh crimson blood had dried to pitch black, and it glinted in the starlight. Sitting upright, Vulpes wiped his gloved hand across the blood, smearing it across his lower cheek and jaw. Both men panted, tired from the skirmish, and Vulpes massaged his windpipe as he stood. He’d faced Silus in the arena before, without weapons. He had no intention of repeating that fight on a ledge.

  
“Don’t come back,” Silus said without further explanation. “I’ll kill you myself.”

  
The blond paused, hesitating with the blood on his lip. “I have contempt for the Courier. That is my fight. Not with you.” He cocked his silvery-golden head to the side. “You are my brother. I don’t understand it, but I respect the shards of dignity we both carry from the Legion.” Silus didn’t respond. Vulpes continued. “As, I suspect, you do.”

  
Silus laboriously placed the machete back in his high boot. He was staring blankly at Vulpes, with no hints at his thoughts or feelings.  
“I will go past the Eastern ridge,” Vulpes decided aloud, and his eyes flickered to the right, toward the pass. “Shall I pass that way?”  
It was a loud, loud silence that went on forever before Silus responded, “I’ll make the others aware of your passing.”

  
Vulpes turned, then spun on his heel methodically, eyeing Silus. “One more question…” his head canted to the side. “If I may.”  
Silus flopped his hand lazily.

  
“Would you protect the Courier? If I were a threat?”

  
_Do you love her?_

It seemed the obvious question-underneath-a-question. Silus finally smiled, a subtle look behind the beard, and his dark eyebrow raised as if to challenge the very thought.

  
“She doesn’t need my protection,” he responded, and leaned against the red rock. It was a refusal to answer, which was an answer in itself.  
Vulpes seemed to accept this, and with one final reproachful look at Silus, he moved his hand to the button on the stealth suit, reactivating it, and the near-silent sound of footsteps descending the rocky climb were all Silus heard, for the rest of that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned to have Silus toss Vulpes off the cliff, actually. I don't know how it transformed into this, but I thought it was really sweet. 
> 
> "Lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit" translates to "A man is a wolf rather than a man to another man, when he hasn't yet found out what he's like".


End file.
